


Hand Delivered

by elaiel



Series: The rose and the star [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Harry is a Good Friend, Letters, Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27256045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elaiel/pseuds/elaiel
Summary: “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”“I understand you’re looking for a man called James Buchanan Barnes?”“Bucky?” Steve spun on the bench to fully face Harry. “Do you have information about his location?”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers
Series: The rose and the star [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990105
Comments: 27
Kudos: 162





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Awesome beta by Batstork - thanks!
> 
> NB - this story is part of a wider series, Harry is deliberately giving his name like that.

“Hello?” 

Steve looked down at the man, who was quite obviously waiting for him at the bench he usually sat on after his run. He guessed he was at most in his early thirties with fair skin, tousled dark hair and startling green eyes, but a gaze that belied his apparent age and reminded Steve most immediately of Natasha or Coulson. Someone who had seen too much and come out the other side. Someone who just _dealt with_ _things_.

“Can I help you?” Steve asked, wondering whether he should call this in or whether, much less likely, this was just a reporter and he should just walk away. 

“Am I speaking to Steven Grant Rogers?”

The man seemed genuinely not to have the automatic recognition of him that Steve was used to; although his English accent may have suggested why. 

“You are,” Steve agreed. “And you are...?”

“My name is Harry Potter-Black,” the man introduced himself. “I’m sorry to accost you in the park, but it’s quite hard to make personal contact with you.”

Steve frowned. “Which newspaper are you from?”

He gave the man a more detailed examination. If he was carrying some sort of recording device or a weapon, it was a very small one. The man’s jeans and button-down shirt were quite slim fitted and there was nothing, no place where the shirt or pants hung incorrectly, not suggesting that he had anything except an undershirt beneath it. There was just nowhere for him to hide a weapon or any equipment larger than a cellphone. Although Steve couldn’t see one of those either. 

The man, Harry, noticed his look and stood slowly. Clearly telegraphing his moves, he turned on the spot for Steve’s examination, his hands held away from his body at waist height. The only thing the man appeared to be carrying were a wallet in his front pocket and a short stick and some paper in his rear pocket.

“I’m not a journalist, I’m here for personal reasons,” Harry said, sitting down again.

Steve frowned, then shrugged and sat down on the opposite end of the bench. 

“Most of my post is...handled for me,” Steve admitted, “it’s a side effect of being…”

“Famous?” Harry offered with a wry smile.

Steve chuckled. “Yeah. So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“I understand you’re looking for a man called James Buchanan Barnes?”

“Bucky?” Steve spun on the bench to fully face Harry. “Do you have information about his location?” 

Harry nodded. “He’s safe. He’s not ready to face the world yet, but he’s safe.”

“Can you take me to him?” Steve demanded. 

Harry shook his head. “No, he’s not ready for that yet. I’m here to deliver a letter.” He reached into his back pocket and brought out an envelope. “I also want you to stop looking for him.”

“Why?” Steve asked. “I—”

“Please,” Harry cut him off with a raised hand. “I know he’s, well, your family. Your brother in all the ways that matter. Please believe me when I say he’s safe, but it’s not possible for you to find him where he is. Even your friend Dr Stark won’t find him.”

“But why?” Steve demanded, leaning forward. “Why can’t he come back?”

“Apart from the fact that the Winter Soldier is a wanted criminal in many countries,” Harry started.

Steve couldn’t stop his flinch. Harry paused a moment, then continued.

“He’s currently getting the help he needs to recover from everything that happened to him and to start to make a place for himself in this century.” Harry held the letter out to him. “He wrote the letter himself and included some genetic material and a photograph of himself with the letter to show you it’s genuine and that he’s okay.”

He took the letter from Harry’s outstretched hand. ‘Steve Rogers’ and ‘BY HAND’ were printed in Bucky’s handwriting across the front of the envelope and it wasslightly crushed from being sat on in Harry’s back pocket. The paper was curiously heavy and slightly textured, and the envelope’s contents were bulkier than a single page. 

“How do I reply?” Steve asked. 

“I’ll be back here in a week.” Harry stood up. “If you can’t make it yourself, send one of your team with the letter.”

“Thank you.” 

There was no reply. Steve looked up from the letter, but the man was gone. He looked fully about him, but there was no sign of Harry. The path was empty in both directions and the grass before and behind him equally clear. It was as if the man had disappeared into thin air. 

Steve looked back down at the letter in his hands. It would have been a good idea to take it back to be checked out before opening it, but Steve wasn’t able to wait. He flipped the envelope over to find it wasn’t glued down; the flap was sealed closed at its point with a blob of red wax. Where a seal should have been impressed into the wax, there was a clearly deliberate and perfectly defined fingerprint. 

Steve slid his finger under the flap and carefully lifted the seal away from the paper without cracking it. Inside the envelope were two sheets of heavy paper folded in on themselves. As he took it out, a single photograph and a smaller piece of the same paper slipped free. He turned them over. The scrap of paper only held a single large smear of what was clearly dried blood, so he slid it back into the envelope and took up the photo.

He cradled the photo in his hands. Bucky’s face looked healthier than the surveillance photos from Washington; his eyes were alert and his expression a half-smile. His hair was even longer than it had been when Steve had last seen him, with just the top tied roughly back off his face and the rest hanging loose. He wasn’t the spiffy young man of their pre-war days, but was still a far cry from the blank-faced, hard-eyed assassin in black who had hunted Steve down across the city. 

He was wearing a dark blue sweater, possibly hand-knitted, over a pale shirt and dark coloured jeans. Steve glanced down at Bucky’s hands; his fingertips were tucked into his jeans pockets, but his metal hand was clearly visible.

The background of the photo gave very little away. Bucky was leaning lightly against a wall, panelled in pale wood to waist height with a wallpaper of pale yellow on white stripes. The edge of a picture frame just cut into the side of the photo and at the bottom, the very fluffy end of a tabby cat’s tail was tucked lightly around Bucky’s leg as if the cat had been rubbing against him.

Steve realised he had been staring at the photograph for several long minutes. He dragged his eyes away from it, tucking it away in the envelope and unfolding the letter. 

_“Dear Steve,_

_Let me start by saying I’m fine. I’m with people who are looking after me and I’m completely out of the hands of Hydra._

_Since I escaped after I pulled you out of the water, I’ve been travelling around, laying low and slowly getting my memories back. Took me a while to remember what happened in Washington, but I think I’ve got most of it pretty clear. Since I’ve been here, I’ve been getting some specialist help. They’ve got some people who treat something pretty close to a lot of the stuff that’s up with me, so I’m getting some good care._

_One thing I gotta say is that where I am, you won’t be able to find me. I know you’re no good at taking no for an answer, but you gotta know that looking for me will just be a waste of time and effort. It ain’t gonna happen, jerk._

_I’m in two minds about what to tell you, about what I_ _can_ _tell you. Hell, this is the third version of this letter I’ve written today. I want to tell you stuff to stop you worrying, but you’re a dumb punk who don’t know when to leave well alone. Also, you got a bunch of professionally nosy friends. Also Stark._

_So, here is what I can tell you:_

  * _I can remember about ¾ of everything up to Azzano now (which was not your fault dumbass), but after that it’s a hot mess._


  * I _t turns out I’ve got some distant kin left. I understand I’ve also got some grand-nieces and nephews in the States, but I’m yet to meet them._


  * _I’m not sure whether I’ll ever be ready to come out into “public” life again. No matter if I do though, I’ll sort out some way for you to visit._


  * _You can trust Harry. He’s one of the good guys. Don’t let his looks fool you though, and don’t let anyone try and get the drop on him. He’s a lot more than he looks and they’ll regret it._ ”



The ink changed slightly, as if Bucky was using a different pen.

_“Okay, Hermione says I gotta stop over-thinking this letter and get it finished so Harry can deliver it. Also, they both suggested that you’ll need some proof of life and that I’m not under duress. I’m gonna put a photo of me in and some blood on a piece of paper. You’ll be able to get Stark to test it for you against some samples from the fight and from before._

_I’m going to sign off now, hopefully if things go right I’ll be able to tell you more soon and sort out a way of meeting safely. Write me back. Harry says he’ll be able to bring a letter back in a week._

_Take care punk._

_Bucky.”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't actually planning for this story to get any longer, but somehow this little coda pretty much wrote itself!

Stark was hunched over a bench in his workshop, working on something or other and didn’t even look up as the door opened automatically at Steve’s approach. 

“I thought you were in Washington.” Stark as usual bypassed all the polite niceties and cut directly to the chase.

“Something came up,” Steve said, hovering in the lab doorway.

The tone of his voice obviously clued Stark in to his concern, as he put down the tool, pushed the magnifying goggles up onto his head and spun on the stool to face Steve.

“That sounds ominous,” he noted, “you want to expand on that?”

Steve vacillated, unsure whether this was really the best idea.

“Come in.” Stark stood, gesturing expansively at the sofa, “sit down. Is it sensitive, embarrassing, dangerous or all three?” He asked. “Tell me it’s all three, I could use a distraction.”

Steve sighed and took a seat on the sofa. “It’s not embarrassing.”

“Right, so it’s dangerous and sensitive.” Stark walked over, hooked a seat out from another bench with a foot and sat on it. “Is it dangerous to us?”

Steve shrugged. 

“Helpful.” Stark spun his chair to fully face Steve and leaned against the bench beside him. “Jarvis, engage privacy mode.”

The glass doors to the lab became opaque and locked with a double click.

“So, what’s up?” Stark asked him. “I’m guessing it’s something to do with our dearly defunct colleagues in SHIELD and/or Hydra. Am I right?”

Steve pulled out the letter. Again, he paused for a moment before leaning forward to hand it over to Stark. 

“I’m pretty certain it’s real. The handwriting looks like Bucky’s to me and it sounds like him, but he suggests I give it to you so you can test it,” he said as Stark opened the letter and scanned it.

“A letter from the Popsicle Soldier.” 

Steve chose to ignore that statement. Stark turned back to the bench and held the letter flat on the table. “Jarvis, take a scan.” 

Blue lines of light played over the page. Stark flipped it and the process was repeated with the reverse and then both sides of the second sheet, the blood-blotted paper, the photograph and the envelope.

“I can say at this stage that the letter is consistent with extant samples of Sergeant Barnes handwriting,” Jarvis stated.

Steve let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding.

“From my initial scan, the photograph appears to be a single exposure, optical lens, chemically processed photograph, not digital. The image is fully consistent with images of Sergeant Barnes from his military service and also with security footage from the events in Washington. I can also see traces of fingerprints on all of the documents, but would need to scan them to a higher degree to produce comparable prints, except the thumbprint in the wax which is consistent with known prints of the sergeant.”

Steve couldn’t help the smile that crept over his face.

Stark looked over at Steve. “Looks like your brother from another mother is getting his marbles back.”


End file.
